by Ed Gorman
“They may have a hard time believing that, my dear.”
“I’ll give them every reason to believe it’s true, however. Can you furnish me with an escort?”
“Certainly. But I’m afraid I don’t have any clothing that would befit your true station.”
“I can manage for that later,” Belle said. “For now, a good meal would do.”
“That,” said the general, “can be provided. See to it, Major.”
“Yes, sir,” Huckabee responded.
CUT TO: Stock footage of a Civil War battle scene. A Confederate private cries out, “Rally around General Jackson, boys! Look at him standing there, like a stone wall!”
CUT TO ESTABLISHING SHOT: The entrance to a cave, partially hidden by trees. It is night.
CUT TO: An interior chamber of the cave, extremely well lit by torches placed in sconces around the walls. There is a wooden table in the center of the chamber, around which are seated five men. Other men are standing around the walls. At the head of the table in a thronelike chair sits the Rattler, wearing a cloth mask that covers his entire face except for eyes and mouth. The figure of a coiled rattler decorates the mask’s forehead.
“Belle Boyd must be stopped!” the Rattler exclaimed, striking the table with a gloved fist. “As you know, I plan to own every plantation in the South once the Northern army has conquered it. I can buy them for a pittance. But if Belle Boyd continues to provide information like that which caused the North’s terrible defeat at Bull Run, I’ll be ruined!”
“What do you want us to do about it, boss?” asked a burly man seated near the Rattler.
“I’ll tell you what I want you to do, Rogan,” the Rattler said. “I happen to know that she is on her way to Richmond to stay with her family. But she won’t get there. Someone informed on her, and she’ll be arrested in Front Royal and confined in the private home where General Shields is quartered. I want you to go to Front Royal and burn that house to the ground!”
“But what about the general?” Rogan asked.
“You’ll be posing as Rebel raiders. If anything happens to the general or his men, the Northern soldiers will be that much more determined to wipe out the Rebels.”
“Pretty smart,” Rogan said, stroking his chin and nodding. “But what if Belle Boyd gets out of the house?”
“It’s your job to make sure that she doesn’t. Understand?”
“I get it,” Rogan said, and the other men at the table nodded.
“Good,” the Rattler said. “Now get going. And don’t fail me!”
CUT TO: Shot of men riding hard from the mouth of the cave.
CUT TO: Shot of men riding along a dark trail.
CUT TO: The interior of a house. Belle Boyd, dressed as a Southern lady, is talking to General Shields.
“I must demand that you detain me here no longer,” Belle said. “You must give me a pass through your lines at once, so that I can reach my family in Richmond. My mother is expecting me there.”
General Shields, a tall Irishman with a military bearing, smiled at her.
“Ah, sure, and you do not believe that I would give you over to the none-too-tender mercies of General Jackson and his army,” he said. “Did you know that they’re calling him ‘Stonewall’ now?”
Belle smiled flirtatiously. “I know what worries you, General. You’re afraid I might have heard things from some of the handsome soldiers who’ve paid me so much kind attention these last few days and that I might reveal what I’ve heard to General Jackson, in the unlikely event that our paths should happen to cross. But never tear. I would never betray a confidence.”
“Of course not!” Shields said with a smile. “Everyone knows that Belle Boyd would never help the Rebels in any way. But those ‘handsome soldiers,’ as you call them, may have revealed too much. It is easy to see why some call you ‘La Belle Rebelle.’”
“Why thank you, General,” Belle said, with a mock curtsy.
The general’s face sobered. “But even if you could or would tell, it would do you no good. General Jackson will soon be running back to his home, and all his soldiers with him. We have great plans for General ‘Stonewall’ Jackson.”
“And what might those plans be, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
General Shields looked at her and then burst out laughing.
“You are a bold one, all right! You are the boldest woman that I’ve ever met. To come right out and ask me for my plans like that! No man I know would have dared.”
“Then more shame to them,” Belle said.
“You have a great heart, Miss Boyd, but you will never help those Rebels again. And now I must ask you to retire to your room. I have a meeting with my subordinates and we will be discussing things not for your ears.”
Belle said nothing more. She turned and left the room, going up the stairs to the bedroom set aside for her. As soon as she was inside, she locked the door, then moved swiftly to the closet, where she pushed aside a heavy trunk to reveal a small crack in the floor. Quickly she knelt and looked through the crack. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to the trunk, opened it, and reached under some clothing to pull out a pencil and paper. She then leaned down to watch and listen at the crack in the floor.
CUT TO: Shot of the room below as seen through the crack in the floor. General Shields is talking to his officers.
“But how can we prevent General Jackson from taking back the town?” one of the officers asked.
“Simple,” Shields said. “We’ll blow up the bridges, like McDowell did at Bull Run. We have plenty of time. Jackson knows nothing of our plans.”
CUT TO: Shot of Belle writing feverishly on her piece of paper.
CUT TO: Shot of the raiders entering Front Royal, guns blazing. They ride down the street and attack the house where General Shields is quartered. Soldiers pour out of the house and begin returning fire.
“Get those torches lit!” Rogan yelled.
His horse reared up, and he fired a shot into the chest of a Union soldier, who crumpled in the doorway of the house.
Rogan’s men began riding around the house, trampling the picket fence in front and the roses growing in the bed. They smashed out windows and put the torches to the curtains, then tossed them inside.
One of the men was shot out of the saddle in the act of throwing his torch to the roof, but another was right behind and succeeded where the other had failed. The wood-shingled roof began to burn immediately. The flames spread so quickly it was as if the entire house was made of tinder.
CUT TO: Belle’s bedroom. Smoke is swirling all around and flames are licking around the window. As Belle watches, the window glass cracks like the sound of a pistol shot. Belle puts the paper on which she’s been writing into the bosom of her dress and runs to unlock the door.
Belle opened the door. The hallway was full of smoke, and the entire house was burning. The stairway at the end of the hall was the only way out. Belle started toward it and saw through the smoke that someone was trying to climb the stairs to rescue her.
“This way, Miss Boyd,” the man called out, but just as he did, the stairway collapsed beneath him, dropping him into the flames below.
Belle took another step forward, even though the stairway was no longer there. As she did, the ceiling near the stairs fell downward in a cloud of flame and smoke.
Shielding her face from the intense heat, Belle backed down the hallway to her room and went inside.
She appeared to be trapped. The stairway was gone, and even if she could reach the window, it was two stories above the ground.
But it was the only way out. As she started toward it, she looked up to see the entire roof of the house disintegrate above her. With a look of horror on her face, she disappeared into the fiery explosion of timbers, ash, and smoke.
THREE
Flaming Doom!
ESTABLISHING SHOT: Armed raiders surround the home where Belle Boyd is being held under house arrest. They are firing at Union soldiers who ha
ve come out of the house and are throwing torches through windows. One man throws a torch onto the roof, which bursts into flame.
Belle Boyd placed a piece of paper in the bosom of her dress and looked at the flames licking around the window of her room. The window glass shattered like the sound of a pistol shot. Belle hurried into the hallway, but as she approached the stairway, the ceiling collapsed downward in a cloud of fire and smoke. She backed coward her room, shielding her face with her arm.
Inside the room, she looked around. She appeared to be trapped. The house was two stories tall, and the stairway was gone. The window was her only hope.
As she started toward it, the entire roof of the house crumbled to pieces above her. She did not slow her steps, even as she seemed to vanish into the explosion.
Burning timbers crashed to the floor behind her as she leaped through the window.
Luck favors the bold. One of Rogan’s riders was just below the window, and Belle landed behind him on the horse’s back, her crinoline skirts billowing all around.
The astonished rider hardly had time to realize what was happening as Belle threw him from the saddle, grabbed up the reins, and assumed his place. She kicked her heels into the horse’s side, and it responded by leaping forward, clearing the remains of the picket fence and racing into the street.
Rogan saw the fleeing horse with the woman on its back, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment.
“Get after her, boys!” he yelled, wheeling his horse around. “It’s Belle Boyd! We have to stop her!”
The raiders who heard him spun, turned their horses’ heads, and galloped off in pursuit of the Siren of the Shenandoah, Rogan in the lead. Though they fired at her repeatedly, their shots all harmlessly passed her by.
As she rode, Belle tore away her crinolines, exposing the lacy bloomers beneath. Modesty was not nearly as important now as escaping from the men whose pistols were blasting away at her from behind.
The raiders trampled her skirts into the dust of the street in their pursuit, but they were getting no closer as Belle passed by houses and stores that seemed to blur with the speed of her horse.
She had begun to pull away when she looked up and saw in front of her a group of Union soldiers, alerted by the shooting. With their rifles at the ready, they completely blocked her passage.
With the soldiers in front and the raiders behind, Belle was trapped between them and appeared to have no hope of escape. Of course the Federals were more interested in the raiders than in her, she was certain, so all she had to do was make sure the two groups had clear shots at each other without her being in between.
She pulled back strongly on the reins, jerking her horse to a stop. Then she turned its head toward a narrow alley, dug her heels into its sides, and dashed away.
The soldiers engaged the raiders in a pitched battle, and the only one to follow Belle into the alley was Rogan, who fired shot after shot at the fleeing Siren, his bullets chipping wood from the buildings all around her but never touching either her or her mount.
When Belle judged she was safely past the Union soldiers, she turned back toward the street, and, when she reached it, she once again made a run for the countryside.
She was almost at the edge of town when her horse stumbled.
Belle flew over the horse’s neck, did a somersault in midair, and landed on her feet. Seeing that Rogan was almost upon her, she turned and ran for the nearest building, which appeared to be a barn or livery stable.
Her horse struggled upright and ran away riderless, but Rogan wasn’t fooled. He’d seen where Belle had gone, and when he reached the spot, he jumped from his horse and ran in after her.
CUT TO: The darkened interior of the building, where Belle Boyd, dressed in bloomers and top, locates a lantern and matches sitting atop a barrel. When she lights the lantern, the entire scene appears nearly as bright as day, and Belle is astonished to discover that she has by accident stumbled into the very place where General Shields is storing his munitions. There are numerous barrels bearing labels reading “Gunpowder,” boxes labeled “Dynamite,” and other boxes that clearly hold rifles and ammunition.
Belle set the lantern down on the barrel. Hearing a noise behind her, she turned and looked around. The door of the barn opened, and Rogan entered, his pistol drawn, a smile creasing his rugged face. He looked her over slowly, his eyes moving from her bare shoulders to her narrow waist and on down to her ankles.
“Not bad,” he said appreciatively. “For a spy. But it looks like this is the end of the line for the Siren of the Shenandoah.”
“Maybe not,” Belle said, her hand moving toward a hay hook lying beside the lantern on the barrel. “Look!”
She pointed at the door with her left hand, and Rogan began to turn. He was distracted just long enough for her to reach the hook.
“You can’t fool me,” Rogan said, whipping his head back around.
When he did, he saw the hook flying toward him, and Belle was sprinting for the ladder that led to the hayloft.
Rogan turned aside, but the hook nevertheless struck him a glancing blow on the side of the face, causing him to fire his pistol into the hard-packed floor.
By the time he recovered, Belle was in the hayloft, reaching for a pitchfork. She snatched it out of the hay and threw it down at Rogan, who sidestepped it neatly, getting off two quick shots that made holes in the roof but didn’t come close to Belle.
Rogan straightened and fired two more shots, but Belle was by that time concealed behind bales of hay. The bullets thudded into the bales in front of her, and Rogan started for the ladder.
When he began to climb, Belle came out of concealment.
“The Rattler will be glad to hear I’ve killed you,” Rogan said, pausing midway up the ladder. “You’ll never pass another Federal secret to the Southern army.”
“The Rattler?” Belle said. “Who’s the Rattler?”
“Never mind that. Even if I knew the answer, it wouldn’t do you any good. Dead men tell no tales. Dead women, either.”
He triggered a shot that barely missed Belle as she made a dive for the ladder. She slid forward on the floor of the loft, and before Rogan could shoot again, Belle pushed the ladder backward. It balanced precariously for a moment, then began to rock as Rogan tried to steady it. But he was unable to do so, and he and the ladder fell to the floor of the barn.
Rogan landed on his back, losing both his breath and his pistol.
Belle jumped for a loosely hanging rope and swung to the floor, landing lightly on her feet near the pistol, which she scooped up.
But she had not counted on Rogan coming to himself so quickly and finding the hay hook so conveniently near him. As she turned to face him, he threw the hook, striking the hand that held the pistol.
Belle dropped the gun and Rogan launched himself toward her, driving his head into her stomach and knocking her backward. She hit the floor hard, her fingers scrabbling for the pistol, though she had no idea where it had fallen.
Rogan knew. He was scooting toward it in a rapid crawl.
Belle flipped to her feet and kicked the pistol out of Rogan’s reach. He grabbed her ankle and jerked her feet out from under her.
This time when she fell, she struck the back of her head on the floor and was momentarily dazed.
Rogan stepped over her and reached down for the pistol.
Belle raised her head and saw what he was doing. She planted a foot against his backside and gave a strong push, sending him ankles over elbows. He was brought up short when he hit a stack of rifle boxes.
He appeared stunned, and Belle made a break for the door. If Rogan’s horse was outside, she could still get away.
Rogan stood up, shaking his head to clear it. He saw the pistol, picked it up, and fired three rapid shots at Belle’s fleeing figure.
“Stop right there,” he said, “or I’ll ventilate you.”
Belle stopped and turned to face him.
“You’re a Southerner,”
she said. “And yet you’d shoot a woman?”
“I’d shoot anybody the Rattler told me to. I wouldn’t want the Rattler mad at me. What he’d do would be worse than shooting a woman.”
“But why me?”
“You’re messing with the Rattler’s plans. He wants the South to lose this war. That’s all I know, and it’s more than you need to know, since you’re as good as dead.”
“We’ll see about that,” Belle said.
She broke to her right and used a gunpowder keg as a stepping-stone to reach the top of a row of dynamite boxes. She ran along the boxes with Rogan firing at her all the way.
“Hit this dynamite and we’re both dead!” Belle said.
“Better than having the Rattler kill me for letting you get away!” Rogan replied, firing again and again.
As she came to the end of the row, Belle once again saw the rope. She jumped for if, grabbing hold and propelling herself directly at Rogan.
Just before her feet struck him in the face, Rogan got off a lucky shot that parted the rope. He ducked aside as Belle sailed past him and smashed into the barrel where the lantern sat.
The lantern flew into the air and crashed to the floor, sending an oily layer of flames sliding in every direction.
Rogan didn’t waste time shooting at Belle. Instead he blasted away at several gunpowder kegs, shattering their sides. The gray gunpowder leaked onto the floor.
When the fire ignited the gunpowder and blew the dynamite, the barn was going to be a hell on Earth. Rogan ran for the door as fast as his legs could pump him.
Belle lay stunned on the floor as the flames licked around her. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared not to see as the flames drew ever closer to the gunpowder.
CUT TO: The street outside the barn. Rogan mounts his horse and begins to ride furiously. Before he has gone far, there is a tremendous explosion behind him. Planking and timbers fly through the air and nothing can be seen of the barn other than fire and black, roiling smoke.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The manuscript concludes with the above scene. I have no way of knowing how Belle Boyd escaped what appeared to be a certain death, or even if she managed to do so. I suspect, however, that the next chapter, had it been written, would have the Siren alive and well, revealing General Shields’s plans for the bridges to General Jackson. That is, in fact, what the real Belle Boyd did, achieving perhaps her finest moment of the war. She continued her spying throughout the conflict, in spite of numerous arrests, even passing information through the prison bars. Near the end of the war, she was deported to Canada by Union authorities. Afterward, she took intermittently to the stage in both the U.S. and England, supporting herself by telling appreciative audiences of her exploits. She died in 1900.
